What Matters Most
by Promissa Fidel
Summary: A new assignment in class causes Sherman to think about how little he knows about his own past. But will the search for where he came from make the boy lose sight of what really matters?
1. Family Tree

**Hello again Warpers! Katie here, and this is my second multi-chapter fic for the MPAS fandom. I really want this story to be a personal journey for Sherman as he struggles with the trials of what it means to be adopted. However this is only the second time I've written Sherman at his actual age in the movie, so I hope I've done him justice. **

**Disclaimer: As much as I love writing for them, absolutely none of these characters are mine. **

* * *

"Before we begin our history lesson, I have a new assignment for all of you"

The second grade class of Susan B Anthony academy groaned at their teacher words. All the children were fidgeting in their seats, the sunshine streaming in from the windows calling to them temptingly. No one wanted to be cooped up in the classroom any longer.

Sherman, on the other hand, was staring at his teacher with rapt attention. His feet swung to and fro as he sat in his chair, impatiently waiting for his classmates to stop finish their moaning. He hoped the assignment was about what they'd been covering on the American Revolution. After all, He and Mr. Peabody had visited the Boston Tea Party just last week. It would be pretty fantastic to write a presentation about that.

Finally, the children quieted when Mrs. Logan wrapped her wooden pointer on the backboard. "Now class, settle down. There's no need for any of that" she told them sternly "Besides, I think you children are going to enjoy this assignment."

Walking up to the board, she picked up a piece of chalk and wrote: "FAMILY TREE" in bold lettering. "Now can anyone tell me what a family tree is?

Sherman frowned in confusion. Usually he was the one with his hand in the air first, but this time he was completely stumped. He and Mr. Peabody had a potted palm tree in their living room. Did that count?

"Yes, Phoebe." The teacher gestured to the girl waving her hand in the front row.

"Oh I know!" The girl exclaimed, her pigtails bouncing as she have her answer: "A family tree is like a chart-thing that tells you about your family! We've got one hanging in our house!"

Mrs. Logan beamed at the girl. "Thank you Phoebe, that's a very good answer." Then, to the rest of the class she went on, "a family tree is a genealogical chart showing the ancestry, descent, and relationship of all members of a family or other genealogical group. For example..."

She turned back to the board and wrote her full name, Cynthia Logan, on the board. Below that she wrote two other names. "Now these names in the bottom row are the names of my parents. She proceeded to connect to connect the two names with a line of chalk. "The lines indicate a relationship. For example, my mother married my father and gave birth..." Starting from the previous line, she drew another line to her own name and circled it. "...To me."

The smile slowly vanished from Sherman's face. He felt his heart drop into his stomach as he started to piece two and two together, not liking the answer he was coming up with.

"Now my grandparents..." She wrote two more sets of names. "...gave birth to my mother and father. Meaning that both their families are now connected through me." She drew more lines, connecting each set of grandparents to the names of her parents. "Does everyone understand this?"

A murmur of acknowledgement rose from the class.

"Good!" Mrs. Logan smiled as she began to walk around the room, passing out the assignment sheets. "Now I want each of you to do some research on your families and construct a chart just like mine. Each of you will be presenting your family trees a week from today. I expect you to get at least as far as your great, great grandparents."

The room's volume rose as the children began chattering excitedly amongst themselves.

In the midst of all the excited chatter, Sherman just stared at the chalk diagram, a strange, hollow feeling in his chest.

Soon all the assignment sheets had been passed out. But as Mrs. Logan turned to go back to her desk, a loud, blunt voice cut through the din.

"Mrs. Logan! Mrs. Logan! You forgot to give Sherman a sheet!" came the loud voice of Mikey Smith in the middle row. The room quieted in an instant, all eyes suddenly on Sherman and his incriminatingly empty desk.

The seven year old flinched and sunk low in his chair, his face turning the same color of his bright red hair.

"Ouch!" cried Mikey as he was swatted by the girl behind him. "what was that for?"

"Shut up Dufus!" she hissed. "You know he's adopted!"

"Maybe he could track his Dad's pedigree or somethin'" Billy Gunnerson whispered snidely to his friends in the back row. He stopped short, however, when Penny turned to shoot him a death glare.

Somehow, Penny's defense of him only made things worse. Sherman bit his lip as he stared dejectedly at the floor, silently wishing for all the world that it would just swallow him up.

Mrs Logan cleared her throat to get the class' attention. "Actually Mikey, I have another assignment for Sherman. He gets to tell us all about how the founding fathers signed the Declaration of Independence. Won't that be fun Sherman?" She smiled down at him, trying her hardest to smooth things over. Her pitying gaze made his insides twist in discomfort.

"Oh... Um... Yes Mrs. Logan." Sherman mumbled, trying to give her a smile and failing miserably.

"Alrighty then." She gave him one last concerned look before turning back to the board. "Now, who can tell me the first battle of the American Revolution..."

The rest of the lesson seemed to pass by in a blur. Class continued on as usual but Sherman didn't raise his hand once, unable to find it in himself to pay attention let alone participate. Instead the seven year old had just stared out the nearby window, a far off look in his eye. His heart felt heavy as troubling thoughts raced through his mind.

For as long as Sherman could remember, history had always been a huge part of his life. After all he'd been time traveling with his dad since he was a baby. He'd seen history unfold first hand in a way others could only dream of. But, in all that time, he'd never realized how little he knew of his own history.

Mr. Peabody had always told him that history defined civilizations and cultures. A proper knowledge of the past was necessary for the present and the future. If that was true, what defined him? Where was his heritage?

Sherman was horrified to realize that he knew absolutely nothing about where he came from. He didn't know his mother or father, let alone if he even had grandparents…

He didn't even know why they'd left him alone in the rain that fateful night. Had they even wanted him in the first place?

* * *

The Cafeteria was buzzed with energy as Sherman's classmates talked eagerly of their new assignment.

"Did you know I'm related to Abigail Adam's herself?!" claimed Mary Blake, making a show of fixing her glossy ponytail.

"That's nothing!" countered Isaac DeWalt from across to lunch table, brandishing a milk carton for emphasis. "My family can trace our roots all the way back to the Mayflower!"

"Oh yeah! Well my mom says my great, great, great grandma was in the Daughters of Liberty!" piped up Janice French. "My ancestors helped win the revolution. Yours just came in on a stupid boat!"

"My great grandparents came all the way to America from Japan!" exclaimed Suzie Kwan to her friends. "Maybe I could talk to my Sofu and Sobo into letting me borrow some pictures for the presentation."

"...I'm one third Native American on my Dad's side..."

"...can't wait to ask my mom about her great grandma..."

"...my grandpa fixed airplanes during World War II. He's even got a model I could bring in..."

The excitement steadily grew as their conversations intertwined, Each child happy to talk about what made their families so special, what made them unique.

Sherman was silent, fiddling with the plastic straps of his lunchbox as he listened to each of his classmates enviously. What was it like to have a grandfather to tell you war stories, or a grandmother to share family photos with you? What would it be like to just have a Mom?

As he thought these things a pang of guilt shot through his heart. Mr. Peabody was already the best parent a kid could ask for, so why did it matter if he didn't have a mom? Shouldn't having such an awesome Dad be enough? Still, his treacherous heart ached each time his classmates talked about one of their mothers.

Why was he so bothered by this?

While Sherman was lost in his own thoughts, next to him, his two friends Mason and Carl shared a concerned look. Neither of them really knew what to say to make their friend feel better. After a few more minutes of confining silence, Mason decided to break the silence.

"Um... So do you guys want to partner up for that science project?" he asked, trying to sound nonchalant as he eyed Sherman carefully, gauging his reaction. "I was thinking we could meet up at my house today to come up with some ideas. Then maybe we could just hang out." He then winked to Karl who caught his drift.

"Yeah, that'd be cool!" Karl nodded eagerly as he rolled his wheelchair to face His despondent friend. "And I could bring that new chemistry set I got for my birthday last week. You up for it Sherman?"

"Hmm- what?" It took a minute for the redhead to realize he was being addressed. "Oh. Umm... Not today guys," he muttered, wracking his mind for an excuse. "I've got uh... chores to do at home..." He winced even as he heard it. He was a terrible liar

Mason and Karl just gave him another sad look, but Sherman found he couldn't meet their gaze. All of a sudden the cafeteria seemed too loud and overwhelming. Picking up his lunchbox, the redhead rose from his seat. "See you guys in class." He gave the two a halfhearted wave before turning and walking to his locker to put away the rest of his lunch. Suddenly, Sherman found he wasn't very hungry.

* * *

Penny Peterson was so done with her best friend's strange behavior.

The halls of the elementary school were filled with the sounds of bustling children and slamming lockers as the final bell rang. In the midst of the chaos, Penny and Sherman walked down the hallway, the latter's shoulders slumped, his feet dragging.

She frowned at the back of his head. Sherman hadn't raised is hand once in class or corrected Mrs. Logan on the lesson's historical inaccuracies. He hadn't even made any of his stupid puns in science class.

"So what's up with you today?" She finally asked as they made their way through the sea of upperclassman, and out the front doors.

"W-what do you mean?" He asked, trying to avoid her penetrating gaze by fiddling with the tie on his uniform.

She rolled her eyes. "Don't play dumb with me Sherman. You're always hanging out with Dork and Dorkier and I haven't seen you say more than three words to them all day."

"Mason and Karl aren't dorks Penny," the boy defended his friends, but his vigor was half-hearted at best.

"Whatever," she waved his comment off. "You were also a total space case in class. You've been all weird and mopey since Mrs. Logan assigned that project. Oh, by the way," she smirked. "Let's just say Billy's not going to be bugging you for a while. I had a nice chat with him after class."

Sherman winced, knowing full well what Penny's "chats" were like. Ever since the whole WABAC incident she'd had been a whole lot nicer to him, but she could still be downright nasty when she wanted to be. If someone in class started to make fun of him, they had to go through her first. Sherman didn't know if he approved of her methods, but he couldn't argue that they were very effective.

"Uh… Thanks guess." He muttered, his eyes fixed on his shoelaces.

Penny's face fell as she saw her words hadn't helped her friend like she'd hoped. She pouted, staring at the redhead's slumped form.

It was so weird to see him like this. Normally he wouldn't shut up, rambling to her all about his latest WABAC trip with Mr. Peabody or something new he'd learned.

Not that she minded. For once it was kinda nice to have someone who didn't just want to spread gossip or talk about boys and clothes. In a strange way, Sherman's genuine innocence was refreshing. In all honesty, the dorky redhead was probably the first real friend Penny Peterson had ever had. Now if only she could get the hang of this whole empathy thing…

"So… You and Mr. Peabody go anywhere cool lately?" She tried to sound peppy as they made their way down the front steps, hoping it would encourage him to do the same.

"Not really," came Sherman's unenthusiastic reply.

"Well maybe we could take a trip in the WABAC sometime this weekend. If it's okay with your Dad of course."

"Maybe."

"I've never been to France before. Maybe we could go there in the 1920s."

"I guess."

She sighed in frustration. This wasn't going anywhere. "Would you just... Stop it already!"

Sherman looked up in surprise at her sudden outburst.

Penny continued, her voice gaining momentum as she vented her ill-placed anger. "Honestly I don't know why you're so bothered by some silly project. It's just a chart with a bunch of names on it. Who cares if you can't trace your stupid family history, it's not like it matters anyway!" But as the words left her mouth Penny already knew she'd said the wrong thing.

Sherman glared at her, deep hurt etched into those brown eyes. He trembled, breathing heavily as he willed himself not to cry. "It matters to me" came his choked reply.

The girl shrunk back in shame. With every fiber of her being Penny wished she could take back her words, but the damage had been down. "Sherman I-" but the honk of a horn cut off her feeble apology attempt.

Mr. Peabody had just pulled up in his moped, right on time as per usual. The bespectacled dog waved his son over, giving the horn another cheerful honk.

Sherman didn't waste a minute as he ran full speed towards his father, leaving Penny alone with her own guilty thoughts.

* * *

**I don't really care for how some people in the fandom will either villainize or completely reform Penny. Personally, I think she's an interestingly flawed character. Just because she learned a lot about how to treat others during the events of the movie doesn't mean she's suddenly a perfect friend. Sherman is the very first genuine friend Penny has ever had and sometimes she doesn't know how to handle his niiave, sensitive personality. Still, there's something about the redhead's complete lack of pretense and ulterior motive that draws her to him and makes her want to be a better friend. I prefer to portray Penny as a prideful, girl with good intentions and tongue too sharp for her own good. **

**With that said, what did you guys think? Please read and review! **


	2. To Be Wanted

**Oh my goodness gracious this chapter took me FOREVER to write! This is some tough subject matter and I wanted to make sure it was done right.**

**Well, seeing as it's our favorite redhead's birthday, this will be my gift to him. That's right, I've given him a heaping pile of angst! Happy Birthday Sherman! XD (I'll have to forward him a little scientist's chemistry set to make up for this later).**

**Anyway, I'd like to thank everyone for the wonderful encouragement I've been getting from all my readers! Thank you all so much for your amazing reviews! I don't think I would've had the confidence to post all this writing without you. God bless you all!**

**Disclaimer: It's a good thing Sherman and Peabody aren't mine. I put them both through way too much angst. ;)**

* * *

**How do you say to your child in the night?  
Nothing's all black, but then nothing's all white  
How do you say it will all be all right  
When you know that it might not be true?  
What do you do?**

**-Children Will Listen, by Steven Sondheim**

* * *

Peabody knew that something was wrong the moment his son clambered into the sidecar on his moped.

It was the smell he noticed first. There was something unsettlingly off about his son's scent, like oncoming storm clouds on a spring day. That's when he noticed the way the little boy's shoulders were slumped, the way his eyes were fixed foreword, staring off at nothing in particular. He looked almost nothing like the smiling, exuberant child Peabody dropped off just this morning.

Looking the direction Sherman had come from, Peabody was surprised to see a very troubled looking Miss Peterson staring after his son. For a moment, the girl motioned like she wanted to chase after him before deciding against it. He frowned in confusion. He'd thought the two had been getting along rather nicely as of late. Did they have a fight?

This thought and a dozen other scenarios ran through Peabody's mind as he steered the little moped away from the curb and into the bustling city streets.

Silence reigned between the father and son as they drove; something that Peabody found deeply unsettling. Usually around time of day his boy was a bundle of energy eager to tell him anything and everything about his day, what he'd learned, what he'd done with his friends... But Sherman just sat there, completely unresponsive, his eyes following the cars they passed. Peabody drummed his paws awkwardly on the handlebars, not sure quite what to say.

"So..." He started trying to sound casual, "How was school Sherman?"

"Fine," was Sherman's monosyllabic reply.. The boy curled in on the backpack in his lap, resting his chin on the leather straps.

Out of the corner of his eye Peabody shot his boy another concerned look.

"Did you do anything interesting?" he continued trying to wheedle something more out of his son. But Sherman remained as closed off as a clam.

"No."

"Did you do anything uninteresting?"

"No."

Peabody sighed quietly as he kept his eyes on the road. This was not going to be easy.

After a few more moments of unsettling quiet, Peabody finally decided to just skip the pretences. "Miss Peterson looked a bit distressed when I came to pick you up." He began, eyeing the boy in his peripherals.

At the mention of Penny, Sherman flinched and sunk lower into the side car.

"Is everything all right between you two?" He asked in concern.

More silence followed as Sherman bit his lip and fiddled with the straps on his backpack.

"Sherman?" Peabody chanced a full glance at his son as the moped stopped at a red light.

Sherman averted his eyes, trying to look anywhere but at his father. "I don't wanna talk about it." He mumbled, an unspoken pleading in his tone.

Peabody sighed but held his tongue. As much as he desperately wanted to know what was bothering his boy, he knew prying further wouldn't help things. Sherman would tell him in his own time. "Alright," he finally said, revving the engine and steering the moped forward as the light turned green.

The rest of the drive home was made in that same awkward silence. It was a small relief when they finally reached the Penthouse. The minute the elevator doors slid open, Sherman ran past Mr. Peabody towards the back of the house. Peabody didn't really need his hypersensitive hearing to deduce where Sherman was headed. The soft click of the boy's bedroom door just confirmed it.

For a moment, he considered chasing after his son and confronting the problem right here and now, but ultimately decided against it. The genius had to remind himself once again that children were not machines. You couldn't just open them up on demand and see what the problem was. You had to give them time and space.

The dog let out a soft groan as he rubbed at his tense neck. Well this was a complication he certainly hadn't been expecting today. What in earth could've possibly happened to make Sherman so distressed?

Peabody tried hard to redirect the troubling thoughts to the back of his mind as he entered the kitchen. He would find out soon enough for better or for worse. For now, Peabody decided, he would have to make a drastic change in tonight's dinner plans...

* * *

*Knock, knock, knock*

Peabody lightly rapped on Sherman's door, frowning in concern. His son had been in his room a few hours now and still showed no signs of emerging. Needless to say it was beginning to alarm him.

"Sherman," he called as cheerfully as he could. "It's time for dinner!" He waited a moment for a response, but none came. The dog's concern mounted further.

"We're having your favorite, peanut butter and banana sandwiches!" He tried again. Normally Peabody wouldn't have been caught dead making something so... plebeian for dinner but he'd hoped it might coax his boy out of his self-inflicted isolation.

Finally, a timid voice answered from behind the door. "M'not hungry..."

Peabody frown deepened. He knew Sherman needed his space, but this was getting to be a bit much.

"Sherman," he started, knocking on the door once more. "May I please come in?" Again, only silence met his ears. The genius sighed in exasperation. Evidently, it was time to change tactics. "Sherman, I'm coming in," the beagle called, not even bothering to wait for a response as he opened the door.

The room was dark and it took a moment for Peabody's eyes to adjust as he entered. However there was a dim light coming from the upper ledge of Sherman's bunk bed. Peabody looked up to see that the boy had thrown a sheet over one of the hanging wires on his model rocket, effectively covering the ledge and creating a makeshift fort to hide in. From behind the sheet Peabody could see the child's silhouette illuminated by what he assumed was a flashlight.

"Oh dear..." The genius sighed quietly to himself as he took in the sight. This must be bad. Sherman hadn't done anything like this since he was five years old. Although he did take a small moment to admire the way Sherman had used a perfect taut line hitch to tie the wire to the sheet. The boy had been shown by Theodore Roosevelt himself when they'd taken the WABAC to the early 1900s, accompanying the great man on one of his many African expeditions.

Reaching the nearby latter, Peabody climbed to the upper edges of the bunk. Drawing back the curtain, he saw Sherman curled up on a large cushion, his chin tucked under his knees as he stared at a bit of paper in his hand. The child's brown eyes looked distant, like Sherman was a thousand miles away.

Peabody cleared his throat to announce his presence. "Oh!" The boy jumped in surprise and, in an instant the piece of paper was gone, shoved hastily underneath the cushion. "H-hi Mr. Peabody," he fumbled, wiping at his blotchy face.

The stench of sadness was rolling off Sherman in waves, shrouding the boy's usual scent in its choking grasp. Peabody's parental instinct immediately welled up inside him, wanting to find what was causing his son so much hurt and chase it away. But, of course, he needed to know the problem first. "Would you mind if I joined you?" He asked cautiously.

"Uh... Ok I guess..." Sherman nodded, sniffling quietly. The seven year old was trying hard to hide his raw, red-rimmed eyes.

Peabody's heart ached, as he stepped off the ladder and pulled up another cushion, sitting down next to his son. More silence stretched between them, neither really knowing what to say.

Unfortunately, dealing with the emotional had never been Peabody's strong suit. It frustrated and mystified the genius to no end. Give him a broken computer it would be fixed and running even smoother than before in no time. Ask him to build a rocket and he would have it flying in a week. But when it came to Sherman, Peabody sometimes felt little more prepared than a blind man trying to walk a tight rope.

A million questions flew through Peabody's mind but they all seemed to die in his throat. Finally, he chose to awkwardly pick up the hanging sheet, inspecting his son's handiwork. "Ahem... This is a rather nice structure you've build here," he held up the piece of the sheet for emphasis.

When Sherman didn't respond, the dog prattled on, allowing himself to fall into his usual, detached, academic persona.

"I find it reminiscent of the tee pees we saw when we visited the nomadic Indians of the Great Plains in 1830. Remember that? Brilliant inventions really. They were made of animal skin, which remains dry during heavy rain and provides warmth and comfort in the winter…" he rambled. "Of course, during the summer the nomads slept under the stars. I suppose you could say the heat was too in-tents for them." The pun was clever but ultimately ineffective. Sherman hadn't even looked up let alone laughed.

He sighed deeply, taking off his spectacles and rubbing his snout wearily. "Sherman, please don't make me do all the talking here. Would you tell me what's been bothering you so we can get to the bottom of this?"

Sherman looked up and opened his mouth to tell his father that he was fine, but Peabody beat him to it.

"And don't you attempt to tell me nothing's wrong," the dog warned "I can smell it on you!"

Knowing full well not to contend with the beagle's superior sniffer, the redhead bit his lip and looked back down at his hands.

Peabody's eyes softened as he placed a reassuring paw on his son's shoulder. "Sherman please," he pleaded, "you know you can tell me anything."

The boy waited a moment longer, his brow furrowed in uncertainty. Then, he looked up to meet Peabody's gaze.

"Do you..." Sherman started, faltering slightly midsentence before steeling his nerve and plowing foreword: "DoyouknowanythingaboutwhereIcamefrom?"

Peabody blinked, surprised at the sudden assault of words. "Come again?"

Sherman hugged his knees to his chest, taking a deep breath as he spoke again, this time much slower. "Do you know anything about where I came from? I mean what my... Um... Who my..." He trailed off, feeling far too guilty to finish the thought. He didn't need to. Peabody had already pieced together what his son had been trying to say: "Do you who my real family is?"

For a moment, the beagle sat in silence, his brain struggling to process through the shock. He'd gone over a thousand different scenarios in his mind but he certainly hadn't been expecting this.

Well, that wasn't entirely true. Since the day Mr. Peabody had vowed to adopt Sherman he'd done extensive research on the mindset of adoptive children, reading every text book and psychological study he could find. Ever the perfectionist, Peabody had sought to be as prepared as possible. In the back of his mind, the genius' eidetic memory recalled a particular passage he'd read so many years ago:

"…An issue that surfaces repeatedly in an adoptee's life is that of identity. The development of an identity is a crucial building block for self-esteem, and an adoptee's struggle to achieve a coherent story is often a daunting task. The sense of continuity, of a past and present that is necessary for identity formation..."

It was only a matter of time until Sherman asked these questions and the beagle had sworn to himself that he would be ready, that he would know exactly what to say when the time came.

Unfortunately, all the books, case studies, and databases had failed to mention the painful surge of emotion that was currently overwhelming his sense of logic and reason. His mind began to brim with poisonous self-doubt. Was Sherman unhappy with him? Had he not been a good enough father? Had he failed his child in some way?

No! There would be none of that! Peabody beat back the toxic thoughts, chastising himself for almost falling into the same mental trap as most adoptive parents. Sherman's inquiries were not a reflection on his parenting skills. It was only natural for the boy to want to know more about his… biological family, to understand his heritage.

Now if only Peabody could make his heart believe his mind's rationale.

Peabody hadn't realized how long he's been trapped in his own mind until he noticed that Sherman was talking to him, furiously swiping at his moist eyes as he rambled.

"…so sorry Mr. Peabody! I shouldn't have said anything!" he said, taking his father's long, shocked silence as a negative sign. "It's just that… that Penny says it's stupid but I think it isn't! But maybe she's right. Maybe it is just a bunch of stupid names on a chart. I don't know. And all the others were talking about their grandmas and grandpas and… and…" His voice was escalating into hysterics as he prattled on, venting all of the emotions that had been building inside him the whole day.

Peabody clutched the boy tightly by the arms, his green eyes staring into Sherman's brown. "Sherman! Sherman, please calm down!" he coaxed, trying to stop his son before he had a full-on panic attack. "I need you to take deep breaths. Can you do that for me? In and out."

Sherman nodded mutely, taking a few gulps of air, body trembling as he exhaled.

"That's it." the dog soothed, wiping a few stray tears from the boy's cheek. "I'm not angry with you Sherman, I promise. Now why don't you start from the beginning and tell me what this is all about alright?"

Sherman didn't need to be asked twice. In an instant he was telling his father all about the family tree assignment, how he'd realized he couldn't do it, how excited the other children were, and the hurtful things Penny had said to him. The seven year old talked until his voice grew hoarse, clutching his father like a lifeline in a raging storm. Peabody just listened, holding Sherman securely in his arms. He was starting to get a better idea as to how all of this came about.

"And she said it didn't matter anyway because it's just a stupid assignment. But it doesn't feel stupid to me. You always said knowing your history is super important and that we're lost without it." Sherman finished, hiccupping slightly. "Am I lost Mr. Peabody?" His eyes were wide and questioning, fearful of his father's answer.

"What! Of course not!" exclaimed Peabody, wincing at the context his words were being used in.

"Sherman," he started, trying to find the right way to put this. "I've always told you that it's important to have a working knowledge of history so that you might have an appreciation for our many expeditions in the WABAC. After all, history is a fascinating subject. It teaches us and informs our decision making. However, it is not the end all and be all. "

Peabody lifted the boy's chin to meet his eyes, saying earnestly, "The past is fascinating, yes, but it does not ultimately define a person's identity. Sherman, it's our actions that define us; the way we treat others and how we choose to live our lives." He smiled sadly. "Think about it. If I'd allowed my past to define me I would've lived my whole life within the confines of an animal shelter."

Sherman sat in stunned silence as he internalized his father's words. "So…" He started slowly, brow furrowed as he tried to piece together Peabody's advice. "Who I am is what I do… not where I come from?"

The beagle smiled ruffling his son's red hair, "Precisely!"

At the genius' praise a small smile came back to Sherman's face. But it vanished at his next thought. "So is it stupid if I still want to know where I came from. Who my r-" but Sherman stopped. He just couldn't say "real family." It would feel like too large a betrayal to the dog that raised him.

Peabody sighed as he tried to chase away the irrational jealously flaring up inside him. It was ridiculous after all. Why did he feel the need to compete for his child's affection with this unknown family he'd never even set eyes on? "Firstly," he started. "I believe we've agreed that "stupid" is not an acceptable adjective with which to refer to ourselves or others."

Sherman blushed sheepishly at the chastisement.

"Secondly," he continued, his tone softening. "You shouldn't be ashamed for having these feelings. It is only natural at this stage in your life for you to wonder about your birth family. I only wish there was more information to give you…" Peabody faltered, dreading what he had to say next. "The truth is Sherman, I know next to nothing about where you came from.

Sherman stared at his father in shock. Never once had he ever heard Mr. Peabody say he didn't know something. He hadn't even thought the words were in his father's vocabulary.

"Now those first few years after I found you I tried many times to find to trace your biological parents," Peabody continued, "in order to find out more about your genetic history and any medical information that could present a problem later on. But well... You see..." The dog fumbled for a proper explanation, all too aware of his son's unwavering gaze. The boy was hanging in his every word.

"You must understand. When I found you that night there was nothing but a small slip of paper with your name on it to identify you. There was no birth certificate, no last name, nothing. The doctors weren't even sure how old you were when I brought you in. Their best guess was three months. There was absolutely no way to track down whoever had left you there." He looked towards Sherman cautiously for a response. Hoping he'd done the right thing being so honest with the boy.

But Sherman just sat there quietly as the full impact of the words washed over him. "I... I just don't understand why she would just leave me there." He finally choked out the questions that had been haunting his mind for so long. "Didn't... Didn't she want me?"

The question was so real, so raw that it ripped a hole through Peabody's heart. The beagle wasted no time in tugging the boy into a tight embrace. He wracked his brain for anything to he could say, but what could he possibly say? There was no quick fix for this sort of problem, no easy answer.

"Oh Sherman..." He sighed. "I'm sure your mother wanted you very much. But sometimes..." He faltered once more. "Sometimes there are things that are just beyond our control. Sometimes, we have to make certain choices..." He brushed a stray lock of hair away from Sherman's face "...for the people we love most."

Sherman subconsciously leaned into the touch as he listened, comforted by his father's presence.

"I'm not saying it was right for her to leave you there, because it certainly wasn't" Peabody clarified quickly.

He then paused for a moment, taking time to consider his next words. "Truthfully Sherman, I can't explain her mindset. I'd like to believe she honestly thought she was doing what was best for you, but I can never be sure. I can tell you this though.

He looked right into his son's eyes, speaking each word with firm resolve. "The day I found you was the happiest day of my life. The moment I looked into that box and saw you I wanted you, Sherman! And I will never stop wanting you! No matter where you go, what you do, or how old you get! Do you understand?"

Sherman sniffled quietly, the smile slowly coming back to his face. "Y-yeah. I think so." The boy hugged his father as tightly as he could, burying his tearstained face into the white fur. "I love you Mr. Peabody," he whispered.

"I love you too Sherman."

The two stayed like that for some time, Sherman refusing to budge from the dog's arms. Mr. Peabody didn't even mind that his tail was beginning to fall asleep. He was willing to stay there as long as he son needed him.

However, the loud rumble of Sherman's stomach seemed to have other plans.

Peabody raised an eyebrow, "Not hungry eh?" he teased lightly. "Your gastronomic reflux seems to have a different idea."

Sherman blushed as he finally let go of the beagle. "Yeah," he agreed, rubbing the back of his neck bashfully. "I may have sorta skipped lunch too so… um… Could I still have one of those peanut butter and banana sandwiches you made?" The boy's blush deepened as his stomach let out another gurgle.

Peabody smiled, relieved to see his son start to come back to his usual temperament, "of course." He then started back down the ladder, beckoning Sherman to follow. "Come on then lets go see if dinner hasn't gone stale."

* * *

The rest of the evening went by rather well, all things considered. Sherman had definitely appreciated that Peabody had made his favorite meal, happily scarfing down as much as his small stomach could hold. He'd even had the good grace not to laugh at his father outright when a bit of peanut butter got stuck at the top of the dog's mouth. However he'd been unable to hide the amused smirk on his face. Secretly, Peabody suspected that this was the real reason the boy liked to have this meal so often. Oh well, if it made his son feel better…

Still, Peabody knew better than to think Sherman was completely back to normal. It was barely noticeable, but after watching his boy's mannerisms for seven years, Mr. Peabody knew immediately when something was off. The boy's smile was just a little too wide, his laugh too forced. There was still a distant look in his eye when he though his father wasn't paying attention. Obviously this was going to be a problem that persisted for some time. He only hoped Sherman would come to him next time instead of bottling it up like today.

Their nightly routine progressed as usual, and soon Peabody was tucking Sherman into bed.

"Good night Sherman," he said, shocking the boy as the normally reserved father nuzzled him affectionately. Now more than ever he needed Sherman to know that he was loved and wanted. "I love you."

Sherman gave him a quick hug back, "I have a deep regard for you as well Mr. Peabody."

Peabody chuckled as he turned towards the bedroom door. Things would be better eventually. He just had to give it time…

* * *

Hours, after Peabody had long since gone to sleep Sherman was still wide awake. He groaned quietly as he stared up at his hanging model solar system, his eyes following a blurry Mars as it swung around the earth. Why was this still bothering him so much?

In his mind he kept replaying the conversation he'd had with Mr. Peabody, the words of his father echoing in his ears.

"…nothing but a small slip of paper with your name on it…"

"…no birth certificate, no last name, nothing…"

"…weren't even sure how old you were…"

"…absolutely no way to track down whoever had left you there…"

"…"The truth is Sherman, I know next to nothing about where you came from."

If Mr. Peabody, the smartest being on the face of the earth, couldn't find out where he came from, who could?

Finally giving up the illusion of sleep, Sherman reached over by his bedside table to pick up his glasses. Putting them back on his face, the boy crept out of bed and climbed the ladder to the top bunk. Carefully, he lifted the large cushion, pulling out the slip of paper he'd tried so hard to hide from his father before. Clutching the paper to his chest, Sherman climbed to the floor and sat at the foot of his bed.

As he smoothed the paper's many creases, a crudely drawn face smiled up at him. Once, when he was six, Sherman decided to try and drawn what his mother might look like. Well, needless to say he'd drawn her to look lot like himself. Her hair, bright red like his, reached down to her shoulders. Her brown eyes were framed behind large, round glasses. He'd drawn her along a sea shore, wearing a bright blue dress and waving as if she was waiting for him to join her. Yeah it didn't look anything like one of Mr. Da Vinci's works, but Sherman had been proud of it all the same. Not that anyone besides himself had seen it. He'd felt too guilty to show it to Mr. Peabody. Instead He'd hidden it, finding himself unable to throw it away.

He knew he wasn't being fair. Mr. Peabody had raised him since he was a baby. Why should this woman matter so much to him when he'd never even met her or even seen her?

Maybe it was because, in some strange way, he did see her everywhere. He saw her every time he looked in the mirror, every time he noticed a subtle difference between him and his adoptive father. She was like a ghost, present but invisible throughout his life.

Secretly he'd always wondered what she was like. Was she klutzy and excitable too? Did she have a sweet tooth like him? Was she smart like Mr. Peabody? What similarities did they share? Where did she start and his own personality begin?

Did she think about him as much as he thought about her?

Sherman sighed, flopping down on the bed and staring up at the ceiling in frustration.

Sometimes it felt like there was this weird part of himself he could feel, but could never understand. It was like looking at the world without his glasses on, blurry but still there, still vibrant. He couldn't explain the longing he felt, the need to understand, but he couldn't deny it either.

She was the key. Sherman had decided long ago that his mother, wherever she was, must have all the answers to the unspoken questions in his heart.

The child held up the pictured to his face, glaring at the face that smiled back at him innocently. If she could never be found, what good was it to wonder?

He needed to face the facts. All those answers had vanished forever when she'd left him. They had been washed away by the rain, all those years ago…

Wait a minute! Years…

The idea was so visceral, so obvious, that it caused Sherman to jolt out of the bed in shock. Of course! It was so simple! So totally and completely against the rules, but obvious all the same.

Running to his desk and throwing open one of the top draws, Sherman drew out a pencil. With trembling hands, he wrote the exact year and place Peabody had found him all those years ago on the picture of his mother.

When he'd finished the full impact of what he planned to do hit him, nearly knocking the air from his lungs as his breath hitched with anticipation.

Mr. Peabody might not have been able to find his mother, but maybe he could…

* * *

**And now I leave you to your feels, in whatever state they may be in. **

**I hope I have done a good enough job capturing both Peabody and Sherman's thought process throughout this story. After all, questions about one's biological family are incredibly common among adopted children and can cause some serious real-life identity problems. Just reading some of this stuff online makes me feel grossly underqualified to be writing this kind of a story. Still, I feel it's an important one to tell given the mysterious nature of Sherman's past.**

**As always thank you for reading and please feel free to read and review. Also, wish Sherman a happy birthday! Let's see, the show first aired in 1959, so he's like 55 now… O.o**


	3. The Need to Know

**Well this chapter was surprisingly easy to write. Then again, it is pretty short compared to the last one. This is mainly just to build suspense****, explore more of Sherman's thought process,**** and lead into the story's climax. **

**Now as many of you have already pointed out in your reviews, this story is extremely similar in nature to the movie _Meet the Robinsons_. Yeah... I will readily admit that this movie has had a huge influence on my story, so much so that most of you probably can guess what the climax is going to be. Heh heh... *blushes awkwardly***

**I'm sorry, but factoring in how Sherman was abandoned, the fact that he is an extremely, intelligent, curious child, AND the fact that he has a time machine at his disposal, I feel that this idea would've had to pop up eventually. **

**Thank you all for your awesome feedback! I hope you like this chapter, however short it may be...**

**Disclaimer: Only Dream Works can own the sheer awesomeness that is Peabody and Sherman!**

* * *

Light flooded the dimly lit room as the elevator doors opened. Sherman stepped out tentatively, his footsteps echoing across the cavernous hallway. The boy jumped as the elevator doors slid shut, engulfing the room in darkness once more. The only light now was the blinking LED display of the security panel attached to the enormous vault at the end of the hallway.

The seven year old blinked as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, his heart beating hard in his chest. It was so creepy at night without the illuminated hollow-screens, but Sherman didn't dare turn on any lights. As he crept forward, the redhead wrung his hands in his tee shirt, his nerves wound tighter than a clock.

Inside the boy's mind, a raging conflict brewed. Sherman knew what he was doing was foolish and unbelievably risky. After all, he was about to disobey his father's biggest rule: No unsupervised time-travel. Not only that, he was about to break the biggest rule of time travel itself: Never travel to a time where you existed.

His conscience pleaded with him to turn back, to just leave well enough alone and go back to the comfort and safety of his bed. If Mr. Peabody knew what he was about to do...

Sherman bit his lip. Guilt welled up inside him as he thought of his father sleeping peacefully upstairs. For a moment, the urge to run back to the elevator was so strong that Sherman faltered in his step. But the other half of his mind was ready with a counter attack.

Go back? Go back and live the rest of his life with all these questions? Go back knowing that he was so close to finding his past, to seeing her..."

Finally reaching the vault, Sherman punched in the security codes. His heart gave another lurch as the door easily swung open. The guilt intensified as he realized that Mr. Peabody trusted him so much that he hadn't even reset the security codes since the last time-travel fiasco.

The redhead took a shuddering breath as he walked forward. With any luck, his father would still be sound asleep by the time he got back...

* * *

Peabody wasn't quite sure what had woken him out of a sound sleep. The dog squinted blearily in the darkness as he sat up in his large bed, reaching a paw to the bedside table and feeling around for his glasses. Eventually his paw closed around smooth plastic.

Placing the spectacles back on his snout, the dog turned to glance at the digital clock. "2:35 AM" reflected across his glasses from the bright display.

Peabody groaned lightly, knocking his spectacles askew as he rubbed his tired eyes. What in the world had caused him to wake up at this ungodly hour?

That's when he felt it, the unsettling twist in his gut. The beagle's fur stood on end as he sniffed the air. Something wasn't right. He couldn't explain it, but something just felt... off somehow.

"It's probably nothing..." He muttered to himself. Still, he'd never known his instincts to be wrong before.

Reluctantly the dog left the comfort of his bed, yawning as he shuffled to the door. Perhaps he could make a quick check on Sherman. Just in case...

As Sherman entered through the vault, the WABAC was there waiting for him. It hovered innocuously in mid-air, eagerly waiting its next expedition. The boy gulped nervously as the floor began to move underneath him. The hole in his gut seemed to get larger and larger as he approached the large red orb.

This would be simple, a snap. After all, he'd driven the WABAC before just fine. Granted, Mr. Peabody had been with him…

* * *

As the door creaked open and his eyes adjusted to the darkness, Peabody felt another unexplainable chill go up his spine. Suddenly the dog was much more awake as he padded softly across the hardwood floor. The genius wasn't sure what had him so agitated, but he knew he didn't like it.

The beagle's ears were perked, listening for the sound of anything out of the ordinary. But there was absolutely nothing. His long shadow trailed behind him as he walked, ghosting over the many pictures of Sherman and himself lining the walls.

Honestly he was being ridiculous. For all he knew this feeling could be nothing more than a mere change in barometric pressure. He'd always been particularly sensitive to meteorological phenomenon after all…

Still, in spite of his reasoning, Peabody continued onwards. He knew he wasn't going to get a wink of sleep if he didn't humor his on-edge instincts and reassure himself that everything was fine.

Finally he reached Sherman's door at the end of the hallway. Just a quick peak, he thought to himself, turning the handle and opening the door. Then he could go back to sleep.

Peabody let out a small sigh of relief he didn't even know he'd been holding when his eyes caught sight of the tiny lump underneath the sheets. The dog smiled and chuckled at his own foolish worries. And now to get back to-

But all thoughts of rest fled his mind as he smelled the air. He couldn't pick up Sherman's scent. Come to think of it, he couldn't hear Sherman breathing.

Without hesitation the dog charged into the room, throwing back the covers. His eyes widened at the sight of a large cushion tucked in Sherman's place.

Peabody's gut gave another painful twist, almost as if his instincts were mocking him, telling him "I told you so."

"Sherman!" He called, sniffing around frantically for any trace of his son. But the room was completely barren, any scent his boy had left was stale. Fearful thoughts beat repeatedly at his consciousness. Where could his boy have gone? How could he not have heard him leave?

"Sher-" But the call died in his throat as he heard something crinkle beneath his paw. Ears perked cautiously, Peabody looked down to see what looked like one of Sherman's drawings.

Stepping back, the bog picked up the worn and creased bit of paper, holding it up to his face. The face of a crudely drawn woman smiled back at him. His heart ached as he saw the bright red hair and glasses. It wasn't hard to fathom who Sherman had attempting to draw. Then his eyes came to rest on the shaky writing in the lower corner of the picture, squinting hard to read the messy penmanship. "June 24th, 2007. The corner of 58th and 11th avenue…"

Peabody's breath caught in his throat, eyes widening in horror as he put the pieces together in his mind. No…

"SHERMAN!" The picture fluttered to the floor as the beagle ran out of the room on all fours, nearly slipping on the polished floors as he ran to the elevator as fast as his legs could carry him.

How could he have been so foolish!? How could he have not seen this coming a mile away?! He knew Sherman had been hurting, been desperate to know more. Oh why had he ever left the child alone with those thoughts?

Peabody just prayed he wasn't too late…

* * *

Sherman jumped slightly as he felt the WABAC whir to life beneath him. The engine thrummed eagerly as the navigation systems booted up, the many monitors blinking to life.

He took a deep breath in an attempt to calm down, angry at himself for being such a wimp. It was just the WABAC after all. He'd been travelling in it his whole life.

"I can do this." He muttered, trying desperately to reassure himself.

The seven year old walked to the console, his legs feeling like jelly beneath him as he sat in his father's chair. "This'll be easy." He kept up the nervous monologue, "Just punch in the coordinates…" He typed in the correct date and place just like he'd seen Mr. Peabody do a thousand times. "And…" Sherman bit his lip, his hand hovering over the bright red button.

* * *

The minute the elevator doors opened, Peabody shot out like a rocket. His paws pounded against the smooth floor as he raced against time itself.

* * *

Sherman began to hyperventilate, his hand trembling. What was he thinking? He was going to be in so much trouble! Maybe if he just turned off the WABAC. His father would never have to know.

But then, he would never see her. Never know why she'd given him up. If she'd ever loved him at all...

No! The seven year olds fists clenched as his resolve strengthened. He had to see her. He needed to know.

"M'sorry Mr. Peabody," Sherman whispered quietly as he raised his fist and brought it down on the button.

* * *

From behind the vault door Peabody could hear the WABAC's engines roaring to life. A rush of fear surged through his heart, nearly stopping it completely.

"No, no, no, no…" Frantically the dog input the security codes, squeezing himself through the vault door as it slowly opened.

To his horror, he saw the WABAC start to rise up, its thrusters activated at full force. "SHERMAN!" he cried at the top of his lungs. But it was too late.

All Mr. Peabody could do was watch helplessly as the WABAC dematerialized in a bright flash of light, taking his son with it.

* * *

**Sorry to leave you guys on another cliffhanger! I'll try to update as soon as I can, but this next chapter is gonna be a doozy to write...**

**Please be sure to review! I eagerly await your feedback!**

**Warmest Regards,**

**Katie**


	4. The Hardest Decision

**Well, now that my midterms are wrapping up I can get back to my writing!**

**Here's Chapter 4 of What Matters Most. I apologize for the wait but this is probably one of the most difficult things I've had to write so far for a number of reasons. I hope I was able to keep Sherman in character while putting him through these more emotional scenes.**

**And yes, I fully realize the parallels to Meet the Robinsons. Given the circumstances I felt they were unavoidable. Still, I hope this story can stand on it's own all the same.**

* * *

**"At seventeen I looked into your eyes,**  
** knew I could never comfort your cries.**  
** Every April still reminds me of you.**  
** The child I never knew.**  
** My lullaby in blue."**

**Bette Midler, _Lullaby in Blue_**

* * *

Rain poured down from the darkened clouds above the city, pounding the already soaked sidewalks. The few pedestrians braving the street walked quickly to get out of the downpour, bowing their heads under hoods and umbrellas in the vain hope of staying dry.

No one even noticed the small flash of light in the sky as the WABAC materialized over the rooftops. Just as well, it was gone in an instant as the cloaking shield was switched on. Still, if you squinted you could just barely see the outline of the craft as it slowly descended unto the street level, raindrops bouncing off its hull.

Sherman held his breath as he lowered the time machine on the sidewalk. Trying to look through the now fogged up windshield, the redhead wiped condensation from the glass, creating a little viewport for himself. Across the street was a simple, nondescript alcove wedged between two buildings. Truthfully, it looked like any other alley way in New York City, but Sherman knew better.

Once when he was five he'd asked Mr. Peabody to bring him here. Peabody had found it a strange request, but had humored his son just the same. After all, his father had always been honest with him about the circumstances of his adoption and Sherman had been naturally curious. Still, to be here on this night…

The boy wiped his sweaty palms on his shirt, his guts clenching. He tried to take a deep breath to calm down, but, try as he might, he couldn't seem to get rid of the anxious fluttering in his chest.

The hatch opened with a quiet hiss, as Sherman stepped out of the WABAC. He glanced around nervously but the street was completely deserted, the only light coming from the street lamps overhead. Warm damp air whirled around him as the boy made his way across the pavement, his sneakers squishing in forming puddles. His cotton shirt was beginning to stick to his skin as the rain soaked it through.

Sherman frowned in confusion as he peered into the alleyway only to see that it was deserted as well, save for a nearby dumpster. This was the right alley alright, but where was she? Maybe he'd set the wrong date by accident. Maybe-

But the sound of footsteps made Sherman's thoughts pull to a grinding halt.

Someone was coming.

Sneakers skidding on the damp pavement, the boy squeezed behind the dumpster, pinning his back against the wet brick wall. The footsteps grew closer and closer, Sherman peered out from behind the dumpster to see a slight, hunched figure coming towards him, clutching a small box in its arms. The boy's eyes grew wide, his breath catching in his throat.

Sherman couldn't quite explain how he knew it was her. He just did, beyond a shadow of a doubt.

"Mom…" he breathed quietly. He brushed the soaked hair out of his eyes as he took in the sight before him. She was timid as she approached the mouth of alley, faltering and throwing glances over her shoulder. Most of her face was shrouded in shadow from the hood of her trench coat, but Sherman could just make out a few tendrils of wet, red hair shining in the lamplight.

The boy's heart ached as he gazed at her in amazement. He couldn't believe this. There she was, the mother he'd never known, the woman who had haunted his consciousness for so long. She was standing not five feet from him, close enough to touch…

She didn't even notice the pair of wide eyes watching her from behind the dumpster as she crept into the alley, her slight body trembling with an emotion that Sherman couldn't quite place.

Immediately, all Sherman wanted to do was run up to her, to meet her. All the questions he'd had for so long were welling up inside him, too strong the hold back. He took a step forward, his heart pounding rapidly in his chest.

A loud wail suddenly broke through the tense silence, snapping Sherman out of his trance.

"Shhh… Shhh…" The woman frantically whispered, rocking the box back and forth. "No, no, no… Oh, please stop! Please don't cry. Please…" Her voice cracked as she pleaded. Setting the box besides the wall, the woman tensed and looked around, checking to see if anyone was there.

Sherman ducked quickly behind the dumpster once more, crouching back down and wincing as the rough bricks scraped against his back.

Once reassured that she was alone, his mother reached into the box and drew out a tiny bundle wrapped in blue cloth. The cloth slipped down to reveal a squirming baby with a shock of vibrant red hair atop its head.

It took Sherman a moment to come to the full realization that she was holding him as a baby. His brain nearly stalled as he tried to process this. Dealing with the "him" from the past during the whole WABAC fiasco was weird enough, but this was just too bizarre.

The woman drew the baby close to her as he continued to wail, almost as if sensing her intention for bringing him here. "Shhh… Please calm down. It's alright…" But her words were laced with desperation which only seemed to unsettle the infant further. Finally, as she clutched the infant tightly to her breast his mother began to hum, rocking him back and forth in her arms.

Sherman was beginning to shiver in his wet clothes and his knees ached from crouching on the cement but he didn't dare move. He was too intent on listening to the sound of his mother's voice. Her tone was choked and sad, but to Sherman, it was one of the most beautiful things he'd ever heard. He closed his eyes and savored every minute of the made-up tune. Knowing that, in a way, it was just for him.

Slowly but surely, the baby's wails had ceased and he was falling back to sleep. Once the infant had begun to shut his eyes, his mother gave a shuddering sigh. But still, she held the baby tightly in her arms a few moments longer before placing him carefully back into the cardboard box.

Getting to her knees, the woman tucked the blanket around the baby gently. She raised a shaky hand to caress his cheek.

Sherman watched her quietly from behind as she kneeled there over the box, arms wrapped around her thin frame, her eyes never leaving her child's face. Listening quietly, Sherman could just barely make out the choked sounds coming from his mother as her shoulders began to shake violently.

"I'm so sorry." She managed to say as sobs wracked her body. "I've tried for so long but I just can't… I just don't… I don't know what to do…" She sniffed, still trembling violently as she tried in to explain herself to the infant.

"But things will be better now, you'll see…" She rambled, smoothing the blanket and adjusting the tiny name tag she'd left pinned to it. "Someone is going to find you… I just know it…" She took his tiny hand in her own, squeezing it tight. "And then everything will be… Will be…" Unable to finish, the woman let out a strangled sob, bringing her hands to her face as if to shut out the world.

Unshed tears pricked at Sherman's eyes as he stared at his mother's hunched form. He stepped out from behind the dumpster, quivering as he approached her. His insides were twisting into knots as he drew nearer, not daring himself to so much as breathe. This was it. It was now or never.

So absorbed in her own emotional turmoil, the woman didn't even notice the small boy as he approached her.

Sherman stretched out his hand, his fingertips just inches away from the damp trench coat.

But his hand faltered. The full impact of what he was about to do finally reached him, clearing the haze of irrational need.

Deep in his heart, Sherman knew this wasn't right.

What would this do to the time stream if he continued? What if he scared her and she ran off with the baby? What if she went and left him somewhere else? What if Mr. Peabody never found him?

Sherman withdrew his hand as if he'd been burned, skittishly stepping back.

Mr. Peabody always told him that all things happen for a reason. Who was he to change the past?

But still…

Sherman bit his lip, staring longingly at the sobbing woman. More than anything he wanted to tell her he would be alright, that someone was going to find him and love him…

And want him…

The boy's eyes widened at his sudden revelation, the words of his father echoing through his mind.

"…The moment I looked into that box and saw you I wanted you, Sherman…"

"…I will never stop wanting you…"

Tears ran down his cheeks, mingling with the raindrops on his already wet face. It was at that moment, Sherman knew what he had to do. Slowly, the boy began to back away, his heart burning with each step he took.

Maybe sometimes, you couldn't have all the answers. Maybe sometimes you couldn't have everything you wanted. Maybe sometimes, the past was best left to the past.

Unfortunately in his haze, Sherman wasn't watching his step. His foot slipped in a nearby puddle, causing the seven year old to sway precariously, his arms flailing. He managed to catch himself on the dumpster, but failed to muffled the loud clang of his palms on the metal surface.

The noise jolted the woman out of her turmoil. Sherman barely managed to crawl back behind the dumpster in time as she whirled around, clutching the hood around her face.

He held his breath as she jerked this way and that, looking for the source of the noise. After a few tense seconds, her shoulders lowered slightly. She turned back to the box, kneeling down to kiss her baby's sleeping face one last time. "I'm so sorry…" she whispered, those three simple words carrying the regrets of a lifetime. And with that, the woman picked herself, swayed slightly on the spot, and took off at a brisk pace.

Even though he knew that what he was doing was right, that this was the way things needed to be, it still took every bit of resolve Sherman had not to chase after the woman as he watched her walk away. His eyes followed her sadly as she turned the corner and vanished out of his life forever.

He stood there for sometime, feeling strangely numb as the raindrops splattered on his glasses. He shivered slightly, hugging his scrawny arms to his soaking wet clothes.

However, the boy was pulled from his thoughts when a tiny cry met his ears. Sherman turned back to the alley to see that it was coming from the cardboard box.

The baby had just woken up.

Sherman winced and covered his ears as the cries began to escalate into wails. He nearly ran to the box before his reason kicked in. There was no way he could come in contact with himself! He was already risking the time stream by just being here… Sherman ran a hand through his messy wet hair in frustration. What was he supposed to do?

But before Sherman could do anything, he heard the sound of footsteps coming around the corner. Realizing he'd never make it to the WABAC in time, the boy dove behind the dumpster once more, scrapping his arms and knees against the cement in his haste. Sherman leaned against the rusted metal, chancing a look to see who was coming.

His eyes widened as he saw the all too familiar sight of a bright red umbrella and the pair of white paws walking beneath it.

Mr. Peabody was humming tunelessly to himself as he walked along the wet sidewalk. His eyes were distant and thoughtful, his genius mind obviously on something other than the dreary weather.

As he continued to stare, Sherman marvelled at just how little his father had changed in the last seven years. He looked no older than the Peabody that had tucked him in just that night in the present. Still, Sherman couldn't quite explain it but there was something slightly more distant about the dog, something more reserved.

As the baby let out another cry, Peabody's ears perked. Pulled abruptly from his thoughts the beagle looked around him in confusion. Finally, his eyes came to rest on the cardboard box.

Sherman had to crouch lower to avoid being seen, but his eyes still followed Peabody as the dog tentatively approached the box. He knew what was going to happen. After all, his father had told him countless times. But still, he couldn't help his expression of awe as he watched in fascination. To be here, to see this for himself…

"What in the world…"

Sherman drew a sharp intake of breath as he watched Peabody open the cardboard flaps. Then, the cries abruptly stopped, giving way to a happy gurgle.

Peabody stood there dumbfounded as he took in the sight of the little baby smiling up at him, his tiny arms reaching out up towards the dog.

After a moment's hesitation, Peabody drew out the infant from the wilting cardboard. The round glasses nearly slipped from the baby's face as he shifted into the beagle's arms.

"Where did you come from?" He murmured, holding the squirming bundle in one paw while trying to balance his umbrella in the other. He looked around once more, trying to find any evidence as to who had left this child in an alley of all places. He sniffed the air to find a scent but merely grimaced as the smell of wet garbage from the dumpster entered his nose.

Behind said dumpster, Sherman breathed a small sigh of relief. In any other circumstance he was certain his father would've picked up his scent.

A small hand against his snout caused Peabody to look back down. The baby gurgled happily at the dog's shocked expression reaching out his hand once more to bat at the dog's wet nose.

Peabody couldn't help the chuckle that escaped him, nor could he stop the smile coming to his muzzle. Noticing the small tag attached to the blanket, he peered over his spectacles to read the messy scrawl. "Sherman…" Peabody read aloud.

As he turned back to the baby in his arms, Sherman noticed a small change in his father. Gone was the hesitancy, the reservation in those green eyes. Instead there was something else, something much stronger, much more real and vulnerable.

With a jolt, Sherman realized it was the exact expression Mr. Peabody gave to him every time he tucked him in, every time he told him "I love you."

It was love. The expression was love, pure and simple.

A warmth flared in the pit of Sherman's chest, spreading to the rest of his shivering body and, for a moment, making him forget the cold. Mr. Peabody loved him, and he'd always loved him. A few more hot tears streamed down the boys face, blurring his vision.

Peabody held the baby tightly to his chest, just like Sherman's mother had done just a few moments ago. "Well then Sherman," the Beagle whispered affectionately, wiping a few raindrops from the baby's cheek. "Why don't we go home and get you cleaned up."

His only response was a tiny yawn as the baby nestled contently into the dog's fur. But somehow, that was all the answer Peabody needed.

Sherman watched as Mr. Peabody, the baby tucked securely in his arms, walked out of the alley and into the sidewalk. His eyes followed that red umbrella as if grew farther and farther away, it's vibrant color shining like a beacon in the gloom.

* * *

Meanwhile back in the present, a distraught Mr. Peabody paced the narrow walkway of the WABAC room. In his anxiety, the genius wasn't even bothering with his usual composure, allowing his canine instincts full reign. His tail was wagging frantically, his ears pinned back the the sides oh his head.

Turning around once more, Peabody's eyes wandered to where has disappeared only moments ago.

Of course, time meant nothing to a time machine. For all he know Sherman could've been gone for hours, or days… He wrung his paws nervously, his mind reeling at the thought of Sherman on his own in the past.

Honestly he didn't know who to be more angry at. Sherman for deliberately disobeying one of his biggest rules, or himself for not seeing this coming.

He'd known something was still bothering his son. He'd seen how unnaturally cheerful the boy had been before bed. Why hadn't he said something?

Now Sherman was gone and who knows what dangers could be wrought on the time stream!

The beagle's heart began to race as more worry welled up in his mind. Try as he might, he couldn't stop the low whine from rising in his throat. he'd never felt so helpless so out of control.

More than anything, Peabody just hoped his son was alright.

But before his worried thoughts could continue, the dog felt his fur stand on end as the air around him increased in pressure, a crackle of static cutting through the silence. Peabody sniffed the air, the metallic tang of ozone reaching his nose.

His mind put together the variables in an instant. Realizing what was about to occur, Peabody leapt back. Then, precisely as he had predicted, a bright flash of light flooded the room, a large orb re-materializing directly in its center. The genius shielded his eyes and braced himself for the impact of the shock wave that would inevitably follow the WABAC's reentry to the present.

Sure enough, the loud crack and subsequent shock nearly knocked Peabody off his feet, the dog catching himself just in time. When his eyes recovered from the light, Peabody looked up to see that the WABAC had returned. The time machine was floating in it's usual spot, the occasional crackles of electricity along its hull the only indicator that it had been gone at all.

Quickly Peabody did a rudimentary check of his mental processes, scouring through his brain for his most important memories, making sure that they were all intact. Becoming a US Citizen, Graduating from Harvard, winning the Nobel Prize…

So far so good. But he reserved his sigh of relief for the last memory, his most precious memory, as it appeared in his mind's eye: the smiling face of a baby as it's tiny hands reached out to him from a cardboard box, brown eyes looking up at him in wonder.

At least the time stream was intact.

But his son was still in a heap of trouble!

Peabody marched towards the WABAC, his fists clenched at his sides and his tail whipping around angrily behind him. Honestly he didn't know of he'd ever been so cross with Sherman. The beagle had every intention of giving His son the biggest talking to he could muster for worrying him so much.

But as the hatch of the WABAC hissed open, the sight before him caused Peabody to stop dead in his tracks.

There, quivering like a leaf, stood Sherman.

The boy was white as a sheet and completely exhausted, evidenced from the way he swayed on the spot. He was completely soaked, his filthy wet clothes sticking to his skin, damp hair falling in his face. There were small scraps and cuts on his hands, knees and arms, and Peabody's snout wrinkled as he detected the stench of wet garbage.

But it was Sherman's face that held Peabody the longest. From behind his rain spattered glasses the child's eyes were red and raw, carrying with them too many emotions for Peabody to properly identify. That, and he suspected the wet sheen on the his son's cheeks wasn't merely the from the rain.

Obviously his boy had seen much more than his seven and a half years had prepared him for.

However he only had a few moments to take in Sherman's appearance before the child took a shaky step out of the WABAC, fell to his knees, and crumpled into his father's arms.

All the angry thoughts flew from Peabody's mind as he pulled the trembling child close, nuzzling his snout into the crook of his neck. He was alarmed to find that his boy's skin was like ice. Just how long had Sherman been gone? The dog tried his hardest to cover as much of Sherman exposed skin as he could in his embrace, transferring his own body heat to the shivering boy.

"M'sorry…" Was all Sherman managed to choke out, but Peabody shushed him.

"It's alright Sherman. It's going to be alright…" His father soothed. Peabody didn't even care that Sherman was dripping wet and filthy or that he was hugging him far too tightly, crying wet, hot tears into his shoulder.

Come morning, he would find out exactly what Sherman had seen. They would talk about it and Sherman would get the scolding of a lifetime. But for now Peabody knew his boy needed to debrief and was content to hold Sherman as long and as tightly as he needed.

All that mattered now, was that his son was safe.

* * *

**One more chapter to go and this story is finished!**

**I hope I did a good enough job portraying Sherman's mother. Her scene was extremely difficult to write for obvious reasons. I didn't want to villainize her, but at the same I didn't want to completely flesh her out. In many ways, she's always going to be a mystery to Sherman. **

**Thank you all for being patient. Between schoolwork and the need for sleep I've been finding it tough to find time to write. Let's just say I'm looking forward to a much less stressful summer!**

**And now I shall leave you to your feels, in whatever state they may currently be…**


	5. What Matters Most

**Hello Warpers!**

**Here's the final chapter of What Matters Most. Here's hoping it's a fitting end for the rest of this story. **

**I think I'm going to hold off on writing another multi-chapter fic for a while though, at least until summer comes and I have more free time. For now I think I'll probably just add on more one-shots to "Of a Dog and His Boy."**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot. ^^**

* * *

Sherman awoke to the morning sun as its golden rays shone onto his face. Groaning quietly, the little boy turned away from the light and snuggled deeper into the nice warm sheets. It couldn't be morning already. He was still so tired...

The redhead was just about to drift back to dreamland when a mental alarm went off in his head. Mr. Peabody should've been in to wake him up by now. It was a weekday after all...

He was going to be late for school!

At this Sherman's eyes flew open. His blurry gaze could make out the high position of the sun over the city skyline.

How late had he been sleeping?!

Struggling to disentangle himself from the warm cocoon of blankets the boy's arm shot out towards the bedside table and groped around for his glasses. After a moment, his fingertips brushed against the plastic frames. Hastily shoving the glasses unto his face, Sherman was just about ready to jump out of bed and throw on his school uniform when he stopped in his tracks.

This wasn't his room.

Now that he could see clearly Sherman recognized the meticulously ordered bookshelf in the corner, the immaculately clean floor, the framed Nobel prize on the wall, and the numerous framed pictures of him at different ages on the bedside table.

Why was he in Mr. Peabody's room?

Then, Sherman drew a sharp intake of breath as the memories of the night before suddenly flooded his mind.

Taking the WABAC, seeing his mother, letting her go, watching Mr. Peabody find him, coming back to the present, collapsing into his father's arms…

Suddenly feeling overwhelmed, Sherman fell back down on the sheets. He pressed a hand to his eyes, still slightly red and swollen from all of last night's tears.

Truthfully, he didn't remember much after taking the WABAC to the present. He'd just been too cold and tired to think straight. Vaguely, He recalled his father leading him upstairs, treating his nicks and scrapes, and helping him into some warm clothes. They hadn't talked much but Sherman had clutched Peabody like a lifeline, reassured that in the midst of all these churning emotions his father was still there, as calm and constant as ever.

By the time Sherman had been properly cleaned up and stopped shivering, it had been nearly three in the morning. Both father and son were so dead on their feet that they'd ended up collapsing on Peabody's bed and promptly falling asleep together. Besides, after all that had happened, neither was quite willing to let the other go.

The boy's eyes followed the midmorning rays of sunlight as they danced across the ceiling. Inside, His mind was still reeling from all he's seen last night. If it weren't for the scrapes on his knees and arms from the concrete he would've thought it had all been just a dream.

But no, it had been real, every bit of it. And now he would have to explain it all to his father.

Sherman chewed nervously on his lip, wringing the sheets in his hands as he sat up and eyed the bedroom door. He knew his father was out there, probably waiting for him to wake up. Mr. Peabody hadn't pressed him last night about what he'd done, but he knew they were going to have to talk about it sometime. Sherman groaned and hid his head in his hands.

He was going to be in so much trouble...

Part of him wished he could just stay hidden in his father's room for the rest of the day, pretending to be asleep. But the boy knew that wouldn't solve anything. That was the coward's way out. In the back of his mind, Sherman recalled the words of his hero, Mr. Gandhi:

"Manliness consists not in bluff, bravado or loneliness. It consists in daring to do the right thing and facing consequences…"

The great man had told him that in passing while he and Mr. Peabody had visited the great man in India around 1924. Of course, at the time Sherman hadn't really understood just what Mr. Gandhi had meant, but now he was beginning to.

Sherman sighed as he dragged himself out of the bed, his conscience overruling his fears. What he did was wrong and he needed to take responsibility for his actions. After all, hadn't Mr. Peabody always told him that was the mature thing to do?

Well that certainly didn't make it the easy thing to do.

Taking a deep breath and steeling his nerves, Sherman opened the bedroom door and stepped out into the hallway. His ears could just make out the clangs of pots and pans coming from the kitchen. Well, now he knew where his father was.

Sherman made his way towards the sound, his footsteps on the hardwood muffled by his socked feet. Finally coming to the swinging door that lead into the kitchen, Sherman stood on tiptoe to peer in through the small window.

Sure enough, there was Mr. Peabody in his black apron, expertly poaching eggs on the stove. His gaze, however, was thoughtful and distant as he worked. Clearly his mind was elsewhere.

Sherman recalled his father telling him once that cooking helped him to think. Well by the looks of things Peabody had been doing a lot of thinking lately... stacked neatly on the countertop were various pieces of Tupperware with dishes of all kinds stored inside. The stack nearly eclipsed the beagle in height. It looked like his father had already cooked their meals for the next three days at least.

Sherman bit his lip, shuffling his feet on the slippery hardwood. He supposed he could easily dawdle outside the kitchen for much longer, but he knew that would only make the butterflies fluttering around in his gut even worse. He was going to have to face his father sometime; better now than later.

Tentatively, Sherman pushed the door open, stepping into the large kitchen. Peabody's back was to him; the dog was currently in the middle of sprinkling pepper and paprika over the finished eggs. Still, his ears perked when they detected the soft footfalls behind him. Putting down the condiments, he turned to face his son.

"Ah! You're awake," Peabody clapped his paws together awkwardly, "Good. I was just finishing up breakfast…"

Peabody was relieved to see that Sherman was looking better than he had last night. True his eyes were still a little red and puffy, but he was a far cry from the distressed child who'd stepped out of the WABAC last night. Still, he saw how Sherman was wringing his hands in his night shirt, how he was biting his lip. Clearly his son was just as nervous as he was about their inevitable discussion.

Still, Peabody had had quite some time to think about what he was going to say since he'd woken up at five am that morning. Unable to sleep a moment longer, the dog had squirmed out of his son's arms and proceeded to busy himself with various tasks, allowing his mind to wander as he worked.

Thus far he'd effectively re-alphabetized the bookshelf, tuned the piano, and cooked until he'd effectively used every last grocery in the fridge. Even so, he still felt woefully unprepared as he handed the nervous seven year one of the plates he'd prepared.

"Now why don't we head into the dining room?" he prompted, taking off his apron and grabbing his own plate. "I believe we have an important family matter to discuss…"

Sherman gulped but nodded quietly, following his father out of the kitchen to the impressive mahogany table where Peabody had already set the table. Clambering up into his usual spot, the boy stared down at the egg on his plate and poked at it with his fork, not feeling very hungry at all.

Peabody, at the head of the table, cleared his throat in an attempt to end the tense silence. "As you can see, Sherman, I've decided to keep you home from school today. Considering last night's..." He paused, searching for the right word, "...incident I thought it was best to let you sleep in. Besides, we still need to talk about what happened..."

Sherman winced, his fork mashing the poached egg to a yokey pulp.

Peabody sighed as he watched his son mutilate his breakfast. "Sherman..."

The boy looked up when he felt a paw on his arm. His father was looking at him, concern in those green eyes. "I need to know what happened. I need you to tell me everything."

The boy sunk nervously in his chair, but Peabody's paw held him fast. "Please. I need to know if the space time continuum suffered any ill effects and..." he faltered slightly, "...I need to know if you're going to be alright?" There was a strange uncertainty in his voice. Sherman looked up at his father in surprise, but Peabody's sincere gaze never wavered.

Taking a deep breath the boy finally relented, putting down the yoke covered fork back on his plate and curling in on himself.

It was slow at first, but soon Sherman found himself telling his father everything: How he'd gotten the idea to travel to find his mother, how he'd used the systems security codes to take the WABAC while his father was sleeping, the moment he'd actually seen his mother, how sad she'd been, the moment he realized he had to let her go...

Somehow, it didn't hurt as much as Sherman thought it would when he told Mr. Peabody how he'd let his mother go. There was an odd, bittersweet tug at his heart as he thought of her vanishing in the rain all those years ago, but no tears flowed. Maybe he'd used them all up last night.

It was strange really. The more he talked the better he felt. It was like all the emotions he'd been holding on to were flowing out with every word her spoke. His heart didn't feel nearly as heavy anymore.

Peabody listened carefully, trying to keep a perfectly straight face as he son spoke. He knew Sherman needed to talk about this juts as much as he needed to hear it

"And then I saw you..."

Peabody's ears perked in surprise. He'd assumed that Sherman would only have seen his mother leave him. The thought that his boy could've seen him all those years ago was an option he'd never bothered to fathom.

But Sherman wasn't even looking at him. The little boy was too busy reliving the memory. His eyes far away.

"You were really surprised at first when you saw me in that box. You kept looking around for whoever left me. But then... "a ghost of a smile appeared on the boy's face.

"Um... You just sorta picked me up and started holding me like... Like I was yours..."

Peabody couldn't help the small smile that came to his snout as he relived the moment fondly remembering the tiny heartbeat against his when he'd held his son for the first time.

"When you left I took the WABAC home and... Well, you know the rest..." Sherman trailed off, suddenly finding his hands immensely interesting as he twisted them in his shirt.

He chanced a small glance at Mr. Peabody, wary of how his father might react. But Peabody's expression was perfectly neutral as he processed all his son had told him. Then, after a moment, he finally spoke.

"Yes... Well... Thank you for telling me that Sherman,"

Well, there was no damage to the time stream as far as he could surmise. His heart, however, reeled at just how much his young son had seen. How much he'd been through in such a short span of time.

When he'd first engineered the WABAC it was to teach Sherman about historical events and figures, to give his son an appreciation for the past. Never did he think it would be used to teach his son a hard lesson about maturity.

Unfortunately, now it was time for the hardest part of all, deciding Sherman's punishment. At this, Mr. Peabody was torn.

Part of him felt that Sherman had been through quite enough. Given the boy's experiences he was fairly certain Sherman wouldn't try to pull another stunt like that again.

But still, as a parent Peabody knew that Sherman needed to have a consequence for his actions.

With this in mind, he stood up, took a deep breath, and cleared his throat.

"Ahem"

All Sherman had to do was take one look at the beagle's stern face to surmise what was coming next. Letting out a sigh on resignation, Sherman stood up from his chair to face his father.

In spite of being three fourths of his son's height, Peabody managed to look very authoritarian as he stared up at the boy, arms crossed

"Now Sherman, I take no pleasure in punishing you, but you deliberately disobeyed me and as such disciplinary action must be taken." Peabody words were stern but fair, no raised tone in his voice.

Sherman nodded, his eyes cast downwards to the floor.

His sad expression tugged relentlessly at Peabody's heart strings, but the beagle knew he had to remain firm. Sherman needed to understand that what he'd done was wrong.

"I've designed the rules in this home for one purpose and one purpose only: to protect you and your well-being. So I hope you understand why I was alarmed when you broke several of them in one night…"

Sherman shrunk lower, in shame, staring down at his socks to avoid his father's gaze.

"…I hope you also understand the magnitude of the risk you took in doing so. Not only did you break my rules, you also violated the very rules of time travel itself AND put the space-time continuum at serious risk! What's worse...

He put a paw under Sherman's downcast chin raising it to meet his boy eye to eye. "...you put yourself at serious risk. You have no idea how scared I was when I woke up to find you gone and gallivanting through the time stream."

"Really?" Sherman asked in disbelief, chancing a glance at the beagle. "You were scared?"

Peabody nodded. "I was absolutely terrified!" he admitted.

Sherman's eyes widened in genuine shock. Through the years he had seen Mr. Peabody face near death countless times at the hands of ancient Mayans, French revolutionaries, and 14th century pirates all without flinching. He'd seen his father make light conversation as he fenced for his life with Robespierre; seen the dog maneuver Egyptian booby traps with ease. He'd even seen his father spar with a Trojan soldier five times his size without so much as a whimper. To Sherman, Mr. Peabody had always been Fearless.

"Now, as for your punishment." Peabody continued, getting right back on track. He had thought long and hard about what Sherman's consequences were going to be. "You are grounded for a month. That means no friends over, no robotics club after school, no television, and absolutely no time travel. Do I make myself clear?"

Sherman shoulders drooped, his eyes cast downwards once more, but he nodded all the same. He knew he deserved it. "Yes Mr. Peabody."

"Also..."

Sherman couldn't help the slight grimace from coming to his face. There was more?

Peabody sighed, running a paw over his snout. This was the hardest punishment for him to give. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to change the security codes on the WABAC and this time you are not going to have access to them."

Those simple words were enough to make Sherman's insides twist with guilt, his heart feeling heavy in his chest. The knowledge that is father no longer trusted him hurt worse than any grounding ever could.

Seeing the way his boy's face had crumpled in distress, Peabody was quick to add: "Now this isn't permanent." He placed a reassuring paw on Sherman's back. "But you need to learn that trust is something that is earned not given. If you want my trust back you're going to have to earn it. Alright?"

"Yeah… Alright," Sherman agreed sadly. Taking a shaky breath, Sherman finally let loose the words he'd been holding on to all morning. "I'm sorry . I didn't mean to scare you or mess up the time stream or-"

But before he could finish, his father had already pulled him into a tight hug. Sherman leaned into the embrace, his cheek brushing up against the dog's fur.

"I know you are," Peabody rubbed his son's back soothingly. "I know you were only trying to learn about your past. Your feelings were perfectly understandable. I just wish you hadn't put yourself at such risk." He swept a stray lock of auburn hair out of Sherman's eyes. "And, believe it or not, I'm actually proud of you."

"What!" Sherman broke away from his father, a look of incredulous shock on his face. "But… But I don't get it. I broke the rules and took the WABAC and…

"I know, I know." Agreed Peabody, "And those were all misguided actions that I never want to see you doing again." He gave his boy a long, stern look for emphasis before his eyes softened. "While I'm not pleased with how you put yourself a risk, I am proud of the choices you made while in the past."

"Oh…" Sherman's widened as he realized what Peabody was talking about. Or, rather, who he was talking about.

Peabody wrapped a paw around his son's shoulders once more. "Sherman, the decision you made to let your mother go was an incredibly hard choice for anyone to make, let alone a seven year old."

"Seven and a half" Sherman mumbled, correcting his father out of habit.

"Alright, a seven and a half year old then." Peabody amended an exasperated smile on his face. "My point still stands. It was inordinately mature of you."

"But it didn't feel mature," argued Sherman, thinking his father's praise was ill-placed. "It felt like the toughest thing in the whole world. But… But I just knew it was the right thing to do s'all. You can't mess with your past…" he trailed of, blushing at his fumbled attempt to explain his reasoning.

Peabody couldn't help the chuckle that stirred in his throat. "My boy, I think you've just described the very definition of a mature choice," he informed his son.

Sherman's blushed deepened. "Yeah, I guess…" He murmured softly. A few moments of quiet silence passed between them.

"You were right by the way."

Peabody's ears perked in surprise at his Sherman's comment. "I'm right about a lot of things," he agreed with a witty grin as he ruffled his son's hair. "I don't suppose you could be more specific."

Sherman grinned at the genius' retort before his expression became more sincere. "About my mom."

"Oh?" The beagle asked cautiously, not sure where Sherman was headed with this.

But Sherman just smiled sadly "She really did love me. She just didn't know how to take care of me." He sighed quietly, a distant look in his eye. "I think I'm always going to wonder about my mom. But I as long as I know she loved me, I'll be ok." He elaborated thoughtfully. "Does that make any sense?" The boy blushed nervously looking at his father for some sort of approval.

Inwardly, Peabody marveled at the quiet wisdom his son was displaying. He squeezed Sherman's shoulders reassuringly before simply stating "Sherman, I think that makes more sense than you realize."

Relief shone in the boy's expression, his smile slowly reaching his eyes. For a few moments, both father and son were content in the quiet peace of their home, Sherman leaning into Peabody's warm embrace.

"Oh, I nearly forgot to tell you," Peabody broke the silence. "Miss Peterson called from the school while you were sleeping. She appeared to be quite distressed when you didn't show up today." He smiled, a knowing look in his eye. "I recommend you call her when she gets home from school. I think she has something to say to you…"

Sherman gave a shy smile. He knew Penny cared about him in her own way. She just wasn't always the best at showing it. However, as he thought about his father's words a puzzled frown came to his face. "But I thought was grounded?"

"Well…" Peabody started, shooting Sherman a warm smile. "I suppose I'll make one exception for Miss Peterson."

Sherman smiled back. "Thanks Mr. Peabody"

"Yes well…" a witty grin came to Peabody's muzzle. "You'd better make it fast. After that I want to see you working on your schoolwork young man!" He tried to sound stern but the genius' playful grin gave him away. "I happen to know that you have a presentation on the Declaration of Independence due next week! And I thought…" his tone grew more sheepish as he nervously rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, that you might like some assistance with it…"

Sherman's eyes lit up as he realized what his father was trying to day. "Really? You want to help me with my project?"

Mr. Peabody nodded, fiddling absently with his glasses. "Now I know I don't have much of a family lineage like your classmate's families, but you could call me something of an expert on the founding fathers. Of course you're already quite acquainted with President Washington and Mr. Jefferson so if you'd rather go it your own I-"

But the beagle's rambling was cut off abruptly as he was plowed over by a very exuberant red head. "Are you kidding? That would be awesome! You're the best Mr. Peabody!"

Peabody blushed as his son squeezed him tight. He didn't even bother to stop his tail from wagging a mile a minute as he hugged his son right back. "You're top notch in my book too Sherman!"

"Speaking of books. I have some fascinating texts you could use for your presentation." As soon as the two broke their embrace, Sherman's father had become his usual over-enthusiastic self when he was talking about anything academic.

The beagle turned on his heel to bound down the hallway. "They're right in my office. I shall return momentarily…"

Sherman laughed as he watched his nerdy father speed off. At least things were starting to get back to normal. Well, their version of normal anyway…

As he waited, the boy turned to stare out the window, gazing at the vibrant city below. As he stared, Sherman couldn't help but imagine a slight, red haired woman walking somewhere in the bustling streets. Maybe someday He would meet his mother. Maybe someday he would see her on the street and not even realize it.

But, in the end, Sherman supposed it really didn't matter. He was happy with the life she'd given to him by leaving him in that box so many years ago. He was happy she had loved him.

What's more, he had fantastic life, a bright future, and a father he loved more than anyone else in the world who loved him right back.

In the end, Sherman supposed that's what mattered most...

* * *

**Yay! Je suis fini! **

**And now, I can sleep… -.-**


End file.
